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2013.07.27 - Close Call on an Epic Scale
Samara, Russia Though not commonly referred to as a great European city, Samara (formerly Soviet era Kuybyshev) is home to millions of Russians in its metropolitan footprint, and a crossroads from Europe to Asia. Unfortunately, it is also close in proximity to a host of former soviet states who broke away after the fall of the Union, and therefore is also close in proximity to the "Wild West" of nuclear weaponry and terrorist action in that part of the world. One operative of a local group has boarded a high speed train in Samara, headed for Moscow proper. He wears a black leather jacket and has a mop of brown hair with stark Slavic features and pasty skin with a poor complexion. For the first hour of the trip, there's nothing out of place. But when the man in question stands and whispers something in an attendant's ear, the young woman's eyes go wide and she hurries to inform their train is under threat. Though they've been told only to talk to the Russian authorities, the news makes its way around Interpol and other high tech policing agencies; including one Barbara Gordon, AKA The Oracle. As an alert chimes from her console, Barbara sets down her Xbox controler, pausing the game, and taps the tablet at her side, to see just what the notification is. The nuclear threat alert flashes on the screen. She drops the tablet into her lap, reverses her chair and spins it, thrusting hard on the wheels to return to her control station. Her fingers fly over the keys, as her chair locks into place, and she starts scanning the news feeds and the info coming out of the various authority channels. Sticking her earpiece in her ear, the mic alongside her cheek, she purses her lips and brings up the volume on one of the audio feeds. Calm, if urgent, Russian chatter becomes her background noise as she seeks to get a handle on the current situation. As the source of the problem becomes clear, and the train identification is verified, she thumbs open the JLA channel. "This is Oracle," she says into the mic now, "to whomever is listening." She glances to the list of active transceivers. Superman's icon is alight. Awesome. "You out there Superman? I have an emergency situation in Russian. Nuclear threat." "I'm here, Oracle," Superman says. By here he means in Mexico, assisting the police to incinerate some of the contraband found during a recent bust. "Nuclear?" Superman's voice becomes grim. "I'm headed east. Get me details as soon as you get them." There's a slight drop of the knees as Superman rockets up and away, leaving a small divit in the earth against the backdrop of a burning field. Meanwhile...in Russia The passengers of the car in question sit with their heads in there laps. There is crying and general gnashing of teeth. The man, who has pulled an assault rifle from his luggage, stalks up and down the car in wait. It appears that Russian security on trains is even more lax than the American sort. That, or someone on the security staff is in on it. Equally possible, perhaps even probably. Oracle is scanning the satnet to see what's coming online over the region, and what's already there. She sends out tunnellers to work their way into Russian and Chinese military sats and brings her access to US spy satellites online. Fury will probably be irked by the reports from the cyberdivision that a couple of SHIELD satellites were also commandeered, but she'll look at smoothing feathers with him, later... once his techs bounce back against the JLA access codes. "The train is 056M out of Samara, routed toward Moscow," Oracle tells Superman as he rockets his way around the globe. "It left Samara an hour ago. Which means there's 13-15 hours before it hits Moscow proper," according to the train schedule, at least. Russia's a big country, even with all the small states that have broken off from it. And it doesn't have bullet trains. "I'm looking for proximal targets of strategic importance besides the capital along the route. Intel suggests the train has been commandeered by terrorists transporting nuclear ordinance. Which means we've got a whole train full of civilian hostages." She keeps her ear on Russian police and military information channels for the latest developments. Superman nods, mostly to himself, as he rockets towards Samara at top speed. His voice would seem warbled at this point, so he'll wait to respond until he slows down. The sun is setting now in Russia by the time Superman arrives. He's a 100km north of Samara, following the train from above. "Roger that, Oracle. I'm here now, and have the train in my sight." Using his X-ray vision, Superman begins to scour the train from above, looking for clues on how to best stop what's going on. Oracle's research will show that the train heads straight through a natural gas refinery that sends gas out through lines all through south western Russia and into the homes of millions of people. Oracle considers the list of likely targets along the route, especially those well before the halfway mark along the track. The refinery pops up on the map, along with other possibilities. But, its proximity and strategic importance are far greater than any of the other options -- despite the fact that a nuclear warhead will wreak havoc in general anywhere it detonates. "There's a Rosneft refinery within the primary detonation radius about 200 kilometers outside of Samara long the route," Oracle tells Superman, now. "Rosneft's major stakeholder is the Russian government," she notes. "That makes it a doubly likely target..." "Hear you loud and clear," Superman responds into the communicator. His eyes are a milky white as he continues to search for the weapon in question. Finally! There! Under a seat in the third car, is a device whose outline looks to be just what Superman is looking for. He's only got one shot at this, so its time to make it work. "Oracle, I see the device. I'm going after it." "Copy that, Superman," Oracle responds. She continues to monitor the chatter in Russia. She'd break in and tell them what was about to happen, but she's not sure how extensively the terrorists might be hooked into the communications system. Not, mind, that she's all that sure how well the Kremlin will react to one of America's greatest heroes streaking in to save the day like this. Sometimes, it's easier to ask forgiveness than permission. Everything happens so fast. By the time the tearing of metal reaches the eardrums of the terrorists, Superman, appearing only as a faint streak, is already got the duffel bag and is breaking through the other side of the train and taking back off into the sky. There's a moment or two of confusion and shock, then investigation, before the terrorist realizes what's happened. He looks under the seat where his device was stowed and grits his teeth in anger. He reaches into his pocket for the detonator. Superman continues to hurdle up. Straight up; headed for space. He reaches it just in time, because when he can clearly see the inky black nothingness of space, the device explodes in his hands. Meanwhile, the villain makes his way to the front of the train, weapon still in hand. The satellites in the vicinity of the explosion lose transmission cohesion as the EM pulse from the device interferes with their systems. Oracle pulls her earpiece from her ear as she gets a squeal of static. Most of the space-borne systems are capable of rebooting, but it will likely take several seconds, if not a couple of minutes, for that to happen. In the meantime, she flips over to alternate feeds and, setting her earpiece back in her ear, starts listening for the Russians' reaction. The reaction doesn't come much in the way of sound, but rather of action. Through a recording cellphone, that a hostage is using to record the incident should she live long enough to sell it to the press, Oracle can see the man throw open the cabin door and fire three bursts into the cabin in rapid succession. "Superman, we have shots fired," Oracle says in that calm, urgent voice police dispatchers get when redeploying personnel. "Three bursts of automatic weapons fire into the engineer cabin. I don't have a good angle on the state of the cabin, but I think it's safe to assume the train is now driverless." The digital voice sounds almost dispassionate, but that's purely a trick of the computerized tones. At her console, Barbara Gordon has slipped into 'work' mode in order not to let the deaths hit her until after she's done all she can to prevent more. The train continues to pick up speed. There was a moment where the holder of the cell phone ducked behind her seat, but now that its been a few moments since the shouts, the woman is a bit more courageous. From her vantage point, it looks as if the man is causing the train to go faster and faster. A map will show Oracle that there's a large gorge coming up that carries with it a sweeping turn. Meanwhile, Oracle's calls to Superman go un-responded. So, Oracle will hope, for the moment, that the reason Superman isn't responding is because he's streaking back toward the train at supersonic speeds and its just not convenient for him to reply... and not that the bomb was laced with kryptonite or something like that. When all the satellites come back online -- shortly -- she'll scan for signs of him, as well. In the meantime, however, she needs to find a way to override the train's controls remotely. There is enough of a wi-fi signal from the basic comsats over Europe that she can boost a signal that may potentially reach the train, particularly if she triangulates through available cell towers and the passengers' cell phones. So, she sends out her tunnellers to get her the access she needs... God willing, before the train hits the deadly part of the curve. While Oracle is figuring out her options, the satellite feeds from space begin coming on once more. There, among some of the wreckage of a handful of unlucky satellites that were torched in the blast, is the lifeless form of Superman floating in space. It takes a while, but Oracle is slowly able to begin triangulating the feeds. She needs to recalibrate the fucntionality of a lot of different devices and to explain it all here would give the reader as big of a headache as Barbara is probably getting, but the important part is she's able to do it. But it is very hard. "Sonuva..." Barbara growls curses as she fights the feeds to pull it all together. "Aw, c'mon!" The commands are slow to enact, partly because of electronic transit time, and partly because she's trying to read code written in Russian. Sure, she's got the language down, but it's not like it's her first language. As the train continues to careen down the track, however, the superhacker finally breaks the code-lock and slides into the system proper. "Gotcha!" She glances between the command profile and a Russian-language driver's manual for the train. Finding what she's looking for, she take control of the acceleration and braking system and starts tripping emergency cutoff switches. Of course, as she does, the appropriate commands light up across the control board of the train itself. Nevertheless, there's a screeching sound as the brakes apply and the train fights to slow. The train roars angrily as it brakes against the tracks in a desperate effort to stop before careening over the edge of the turn. Almost immediately everyone is thrown forward, including the terrorist who hits the controls of the train hard. For a moment, it seems that the train will not be able to stop in time, but as it continues to slow and finally comes to a stop, it does so along the turn. It simply did not have enough force to carry it over the edge after Oracle got a hold of it. However, the suspect has now righted himself and has pulled one of the attendants up in front of him, holding a firearm to her head as he frantically looks around. Who was it? Who did that? He's not sure, but he's sure that if he goes, he's taking someone with him. As the train slows to a stop, and Russian authorities and train company controllers start babbling about the surprising turn of events, Oracle returns her attention to Superman. "Supes," she says into the com. "C'mon, buddy. I need you to wake up..." Ohgoddon'tlethimbedead.... She checks the JLA roster to see who else able to withstand the vacuum of space is currently available for a potential rescue of the big blue and red guy. Options are... slim. "Superman... Please. Please, wake up. I can't get to the people on the train -- the guy with a gun. You've gotta wake up!" The man in the train knows that the authorities will be coming for him soon. He's buttressed by being on a large bridge, making it more difficult to get to, but he knows he's out of plans and that death is likely at the hands of the government of Russia. "Line up," he tells the hostages in Russian. He puts the hostages on their knees, facing away from him and towards the windows of their aisles, in that crevice between seats. The next time Oracle looks at the the satellite feeds, Superman's body is gone. Barbara swears softly, a fallen phone her main source of video feed, which creates a strange angle on the whole scene. Her lips press together. She glances to where Superman had been floating in space... only to find him gone. "Oh, God, yes..." Her fingers skim over keys, she cross checks aerial views and keeps an eye on that cell feed, looking for the blue and red streak. The terrorist has all the hostages lined up and walks towards the end of the car. He pulls the gun up to his shoulder and takes aim after nestling it to get a better fit. But in the background, at the end of the car is a red and yellow 'S' that sticks out against the shadows. Suddenly the S is joined by two red orbs when Superman's heat vision melts the gun nearly immediately. The terrorist screams in agony and throws the rest of the molten gun down to the floor. He, to his credit, reacts quickly and begins to pull out a knife, eager to use a hostage to save his skin. His words come in broken English, "Not another step, Superman or I'll --" But the words are cut off as Superman unceremoniously knocks him out with one punch. Barbara lets out a breath she didn't really realize she was holding, slumping back into her chair. Nick of time... That's usually how it works. "Nice to see you up and about," Oracle says to the Man of Steel, now. "I was worried." She glances at the screen where the cell video still rolls. Right now, it's mostly full of knees and boots. At least they're red boots. "I was kind of worried too," Superman admits with a smile. "I've never taken anything quite that big before. That was a close one." The Man of Steel kicks the gun away and awaits the police to come. It could be a while. "Next time you're in Metropolis, we should get a beer. Or the next time I'm in Paris. Or Rio. Or Sydney. Or wherever it is you hang out." Oof! Superman gets tackled by an overzealous, overhappy grandmother. "Yeah," Oracle replies, relief and a chuckle in her voice. "Sounds great." Not, however, that she intends on taking him up on that anytime soon. Perhaps if she had a costume of her own, but... She glances over to the little shrine in the corner. Those days are gone. "I'll notify the Russians that you're waiting for them," she says lightly. "And see you back at the clubhouse." Virtually speaking. "Sounds good," Superman says as he thbbts some of the old lady's hair out of his mouth. "Keep in touch." Category:Log